I'll Be There
by Pernicia
Summary: Dharin is brought back as a ghost by Ardina, determined or condemned to follow Maerad's quest, unseen or heard. Only through possessing others can he communicate with her under alibis. Can he step aside and watch as another man takes his rightful place?
1. Words

**Disclaimer: **commercial law a statement refusing to accept responsibility for something, e.g. a denial of legal liability for any injury associated with a product… oh, and the definition's not mine either, it belongs to Microsoft Word.

**Notes: **I've been planning this one for a long time and still have nothing in terms of plot, but the temptation to write this scene was too much for me to handle. Basically, this is a promo to a fic I plan on starting once a few of my other projects are done. Since no one has written a Dharin fic (to my knowledge, correct me if you have), and I love Dharin, I felt he deserved a spot in the Pellinor fandom. You can read the basic summery on my profile. Note that the present tense, POV, and title will probably change over time. Enough typing to myself, let's get on with the promo…

_Today is the day I die._

Today is the day I die; and now it's too late.

It came too early for me. I was so innocent, so young…

Everyone longs for their youth, but I won't have to. I shall stay forever young. A blessing, or a curse? For better, or for worse?

I can't protect her anymore; I can do nothing; I am nothing, a helpless pawn of circumstance. I can do more, I swear, if I live, but even that seems beyond me as ragged breaths rage through my body.

_Am I good for nothing?_

I read this same thought from the girl who leans above me, struggling to pry out the bolt that has lodged itself permanently in my chest. Tears gather in her blue eyes, her beautiful blue eyes… have I ever told her how beautiful they were?

I don't remember. There is so much I didn't tell her, so much I will never tell her… but perhaps I can tell her this.

The words elude me. They are so simple, so short and effortless. Surely, even in the brief moments before I fade away, I can murmur these few words, if that's all I ever do…

"It is no good, Maerad."

The words sound foggy and distant, as if someone else controlled my actions, some stranger who moved his lips and forced sound out. It must be some stranger, for I never meant to say these words…

"No!" she cries, and I can feel her heart breaking for me, something I had promised never to do. Somehow, I had wandered my way into her heart…

"You can't die. I can heal you."

The conviction in her tone is fierce, but they are only words. Words can be spoken and ignored; words can be silent and heard. Words can lie, and they can tell the deepest truth, if only I could find them…

My spiritual heart, the one I wish I could claim as my own, doesn't waver, but inside, my failing one thumps heavily but sporadically, forcing blood to flow through my veins.

_Blood…_ Those who died in books always mentioned the blood for dramatics. I hadn't even noticed the blood which had formed pools over my chest, spilling everywhere and tainting the pure snow with a scarlet that would mark this deed so long as the snow lasted. I would be remembered.

But will she remember me? Will she even survive? She needs to leave me, run as far away as she could if she had only hope for survival. That's what I'm trying to tell her, I think.

But instead, I am telling her of how they will kill her as well, how I hoped her death would be more merciful than mine… damn it, am I good for nothing?

"I'm sorry, little cousin."

The words sting. She had always been little cousin to me, in her mind at least. Was that all I was to her? Big cousin? I am right apologize, but the meaning is buried beneath the unspoken words.

My lucidity is only a façade, but it's one I play well. Taking a breath- or failing to- I continue my elegy.

"If you are not killed…"

Have I that little faith in her? I'm failing her; I've always failed.

Now, I'm just going through the motions: tell my mother, say good-bye, promise her I'll see her beyond the Gates, if such a peace existed.

"I will."

She takes my words sincerely as she bites back tears. Still, streaks slide down her face, but they are streaks of blood… my blood…

"I'll do anything."

My fantasies play through my mind in fast motion as her lips murmur the same words over and over. Only now, now that they are real, are they fake. These words were not meant to be said to me.

"I love you."

And the words wound me deeper than any bolt ever could; how sincere she speaks them, and yet how wrong they are, for she will never love me. Not as I will always love her.

_If only I can tell her…_

"You have nothing to be sorry for…"

If only that were true. _Oh, Maeard, you have nothing to be sorry for…_

"It's my fault. It's all my fault."

_It's my fault, all my fault…_

"You can't die."

_You can't die. I can't die. Not before I tell you…_

Instead, I find myself walking through the path I've always taken. Reassuring her, calming her fears, convincing her it was not her fault. Playing the faithful cousin.

"Nay."

I'm trying to smile, does she see that?

"Nay. It is not your fault."

I can hear the words in my head before I speak, the words I have tried and failed at so many times…

"I love you…"

Did I truly speak at all? Perhaps I am already dead, and this is but a hallucination, an eternal agony. It matters little, for what has happened has happened, and I have no further control. I can rest now. In peace, even, with the knowledge that I tried. If only I could do more. But I can never do enough.

I think of the pain my death will cause her. She was already broken, she can't possibly hurt any more. She had lost long ago, and yet she still played the game because she had to.

I wished I could take her with me. Perhaps then she'd find happiness. With me. Or would that even hurt her worse to know?

"…little cousin."

The words come out unintentionally, and internally, I cringe at the implication. It is too late now to undo my actions, too late for anything but a few more meaningless words. Nothing matters now.

"I am glad that I knew you."

Dubbing it down, as always. Walking the walk, going through the motions, all of it was an act. But, at least I could act for a little longer, for her sake…

_Blood._ It flowed through me, but only through my throat, blocking my words. They wouldn't have mattered much anyway. They were only words.

Still, she leans over me, and her lips form a word, inaudible through the growing darkness.

"What?"

These are my final words. And, for once, I can't think of anything to say. They won't count. That much I know already. But she doesn't have to.

_So I lie._

"It doesn't hurt."

As I say this, it feels like the bolt has split my heart in half, and even more pieces break off of those two, splitting into shards upon shards. Life is so fragile, and like poorly constructed glass, once a crack appears on the surface, jagged lines spread across the whole piece, waiting for the moment to shatter.

I had so little time; I was so young, and so was she. But not innocent.

"Don't be afraid."

_Don't be afraid._

_I am._

Her face is so close to mine, it would hardly take any effort at all to touch my lips upon her smooth skin one last time, for the first time…

_Don't be afraid._

Her brilliant sapphire eyes batter down upon me, desperation leaking down in form of tears… have I ever told her how beautiful her eyes were?

_Don't be afraid._

And now it is too late. The moment comes. I shatter.

She is once more alone, with only death left. Death in the past, and death in the future. I pity her; but moreover, and selfishly, I pity myself. Was I good for nothing?

Don't be afraid, I told her.

_Because I was._

My name was Dharin à Lobvar, and today was the day I died.

They knew of me no more; I wish I could say I knew no more.

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Please review, if only to say that you want it to continue or wish it would go away, I really appreciate feedback or tips on how to improve it! Your reviews determine how eager I am to start this project. Or, at least, how soon I'll choose to write and release it...


	2. Nothing

**Disclaimer: **No, no, we established this in the promo- Dharin is _Maerad's_, even if she doesn't know it, not mine. Though I can wish, can't I?

**Notes: **Although I still can't promise a steady update rate, I'm going to go ahead and start this fic- what can I say? I was inspired. This piece is kind of a second promo or intro to what's to come, but I think it sets the mood well, so I'm including it as a chapter of its own to begin the various layers. Also, since Dharin is somewhat undeveloped in the book, I will be giving him his own thoughts and personality, concealed in the scenes of the book since we meet him through Maerad.

_Just… nothing._

In the epics, they make death out to be something big, something dramatic, something… well, _something_ at least. Darkness or light, hallucinations or flashbacks, judgment or redemption…something!

But me, I get the truth: _nothing_.

I blink and reawaken; or perhaps I had never fallen asleep, though I most certainly had fallen. Unlike the heroes, no memory loss blinds me, no unbearable pain strikes me

_Appropriate, since I'll never be a hero…_

I know without searching that I'm dead. And I believe it.

By the sky, time has elapsed; it's shadowed, yet pure white with dribbles of scarlet…

_Blood._ Did I have to ask whose?

So I'm staring at the ground, my face buried in the constant snow. Unsurprisingly- to me, atleast- I can scarcely feel the flakes that should burn against my cheeks; in fact, I feel nothing at all, _nothing_, and it isn't numbness- at least, not from the cold.

I know that I can move, and that I shouldn't be able to. But I don't want to. It isn't as if I want to stay with my head in buried in the snow like a camel in the desert either, but it's already been established that I'm never getting anything I want anyway. So, what could it hurt?

_Oh, how I wanted it too…_

To feel pain- the burning freeze, the bitter sting, the empty numbness- _anything!_ I'd lie in the snow forever just to feel anything again, even pain- especially pain. To feel human.

_But, if I wasn't human- what was I?_

At least the epics got one thing right: time is meaningless. I can't feel, so how can I possibly sense the passage of time? The change in temperature, the crispness of the air, the longing for rest- all senses are closed to me. It's as if I've been trapped in time, which, perhaps, I am. I could lay here forever but for one boon- or curse- granted to me, the one piece to remind me who I am… no, had been. And what I might be.

_Memory…_

Those last moments, with my senses overloaded… now that I stop dwelling the fact that I'm dead, reawakening the mere memory of those fleeting moments floods recycled emotion through my vacant body, urging me to do… _something_, anything to counter the nothing.

_Don't be afraid…_

_I am._

I'm afraid.

And suddenly, exuberant. Exuberant in my silent, detached way, simply content to have felt something. That's enough to push myself up.

It will always have to be.

_Because it's already apparent: once you die, life really starts to suck._

**

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I know- short. But people are always telling me that long isn't necessarily better, and in this case, I think they're right. Don't worry, though, it won't always or even often be the case. Still, I'd

_**really **_**appreciate inspiration *coughs, "reviews"***


	3. So Oral

**Disclaimer: ***mumbles something under her breath* But the poetry's mainly mine- really, that should be what's said under my breath, since it's terrible- only somewhat intentionally.

**Notes: **The first real chapter! Not that it really changes anything. Reviews equal commitment. So… ugh, never mind, anything else I say will be interpreted one way: Review. Please. For my sanity. Oh for Dharin's, if you care about him more.

Again, keep in mind that I'm reinventing Dharin's character, since we don't see in his head- from what I've gathered, he's intelligent yet set apart from his peers. But I think he has a hidden sense of humor as well, which I'm going to exploit. Sirkana, in this chapter, is also a little lighter because I figure she'd open up to Dharin, since she seems to have the relationship only with him. Also, I am, as some of you noticed, modernizing the dialogue a bit, since it fits the story more. Plus I could never hope to match up with Croggon, and I don't want to ruin the world she's created.

And, yes, I _am _writing in past tense now. Intentionally.

Leaning in my chair, against the wall.

My nose several inches from the book, since it was impossible to cram my nose into the actual spine, as several people accused me of doing.

My eyes flickering across the print, my brain taking it in.

My mouth letting it out.

"Hark! Fair maid, from skies above,

Which shower thee with beams of love!

With windblown hair of raven feather,

Fairer than the summer weather,

And moonlit skin in moonlit land,

May I implore to take your hand?"

Gesturing dramatically with my hand, as if it were a sword. Changing personas, my voice mimicked a skittish female- very emphatic and _very _hot.

"Hush, hush, thou speak from blinded past-

Such beauty never begged to last.

Yet here I stand before thy charm,

Escaped from age yet prone to harm."

The male spoke again, scoffing heroically, baritone ringing:

"Come, though speak'st of nothing…"

"I daresay, you're speaking quite a bit to be speaking nothing," came the voice I hardly had to put a name to recognize. Still, while fact that the voice had spoken was unsurprising, the fact that it had spoken from the doorway, interrupting my two-person monologue, was startling enough that even the great Ardhur could scarcely have been ashamed of what happened next.

Falling off my chair, against the wall.

My nose shoved in the book- since it was evidently possible to cram one's nose into the spine.

My eyes flickering in pain, my brain taking it in.

My mouth letting it out.

"Ow!"

From my sprawled position on the floor, I was hard pressed to see the owner of the voice- especially with the cover of the book flopped over my eyes. Flicking it away with my finger, somehow, I knew she was grinning a special grin that was reserved solely for me, the grin that portrayed not the political guise of a practiced liar but the pure happiness that could only come from a child's growth. Or shrinkage, in my case.

I was proud of her pride.

"I'm not going to ask how long you were watching," I called, forcing myself painfully into a sitting position so that I could see her head floating above my desk- well, not mine, actually, it was Vul à Taqar's desk. But he had the best library, and the lock was easy to pick…

"Long enough to see your Ardina imitation, if that's any comfort," Sirkana answered, and yes, she was grinning. I knew I was as well, despite the throbbing pain in my head and the trouble I was likely to barely escape out of.

"Trust me, anything close to comfortable is looking favorable now." The floor, like many, was uncarpeted and, needless to say, could use something in the line of cushioning. I supposed I could get up, but then I'd have to move.

The floor was looking quite nice today.

"I know you have better taste in poetry than that," Sirkana teased. "Ebelina of Desor-"

"Could be out-rhymed by me, I know. I just like saying the word 'implore.'" At her dubious glance, I modified, "Well, and calling myself charming."

"Vanity," Sirkana sighed with another half-grin.

"Rhymes with the word prodigy… kind of, in a suffix assonance style. Um, yeah…" I trailed off, glancing up at her innocently. "So, you came here looking for Vul, right?"

"Actually, I just departed from his presence," she said with obvious pleasure behind her stern demeanor. "He said something about some nephew of mine and ransacking his poetry collection- you don't happen to know anything about this, do you?"

"Of course not!" I declared hastily, shoving the book father away. On second thought, I grabbed it before quickly rising, straightening the chair. Standing behind it, I continued, "Nothing at all."

"I certainly hope not. My sister sent word that you were extremely well-behaved, one of the best in your class."

"Well, yeah, of three people," I muttered under my breath.

"The most promising of the entire decade," Sirkana explained further. I didn't know any better, I would think she was bragging about me to me.

"I had no idea they thought of me that fondly. Last time I was in class, the professor made me stay overtime for trying to teach Solla how to read, saying I was wasting my talent and using- and I quote-'incorrect and unproven methods my ancestors would scoff at.' End quote."

"And?" Sirkana prompted.

"Then he asked me to tutor him after pretending to hit me with a stick. Just so the other children wouldn't rebel. But I said no, and then he really hit me with the stick. Bruised my left rib, hasn't felt the same since…"

"Why refuse?" Sirkana questioned.

"Because he had no intention of ever teaching the others how to read," I replied. "He was using me for money. You see, one of the preacher's from a neighboring villages bet that… well, it was complicated. Plus he smelled worse than my dogs."

"Should I be worried about your future?"

"Why worry about my future when you've got this disobedient nephew loose right now? He could be ransacking the entire village for copies of bad Ebelina poetry- in fact, he could be in this very room right now." I glanced over my shoulder mysteriously. "Okay, maybe in one of the adjoining rooms. Most likely prepping for his next crime. That's probably why we've never met, this mysterious cousin and I, he's been roaming the land, leaving devastation in his wake, constantly pursued by the bards of Norloch." I paused, considering the next twist in my tale, of how this cousin had come into existence. "Hey, you had a twin brother, didn't…?"

"Yes," Sirkana answered curtly. Something in her eyes changed, something I had seen often but never so deep. Towering over most members of the clan, including the men, she naturally seemed a bit unapproachable, especially with her planted stern expression at the times. Her eyes could be a true weapon, but they never lied.

She had been looking at me, but now she looked away, simply disturbed, shaken. I hadn't meant to upset her, and I sensed she knew this as I knew that anything else I could say would only harm the situation further. An awkward silence resumed.

The floor was looking quite nice right now.

"I'm sorry, Dharin," she murmured finally.

"Don't be," I replied automatically. "I didn't know him…" So the wrong thing to say. Not only was it stunningly obvious, but the words themselves seemed so callous- and the implication of the unmentioned twin was clear. "I suppose says everything. I'm sorry I…"

"You have the right to ask," Sirkana said, and she meant it. "If I could ever tell anyone… If I ever chose to tell anyone, I'd choose you."

Much more hid behind her words. Her eyes were a great mask for secrets, but they betrayed the fact the secrets were there.

"I don't want to know," I said, wishing for anything but awkwardness. She was never unapproachable to me. Somehow, we connected, inexplicably but in way that nothing could sever. She saw everything in me, and I saw much more than anyone else saw in her. She wasn't my mother, but she was where it counted.

"So," I stated awkwardly. "Why were you seeking this rebellious nephew anyway?"

"I was going to inform him about tonight's dance," Sirkana answered, regaining much of her color. "We've got a guest."

"Ask him if he's got Volume VI of Fel of Norloch's _Epic of Bronwyn_," I yawned, having no intention to see yet another boring glorified supper. "Everything here's so oral…"

"She's female."

"Did I mention how I'm reserving the seat to her left?"

"Already taken care of," Sirkana smirked. "Be warned, I'll be on her right. Dharin, don't scare her too badly- she's had a hard time these past months…"

"Scare her? I'm insulted. Do I look scary?"

"Depends. Are you planning on brushing your hair?" Sirkana gave me no time to recover. "Dharin, keep an eye on her."

"Two eyes, even, all night," I agreed. She smiled formally as I frowned. "Wait, why?"

"She's new here. You know how that is," Sirkana answered casually, but there was more.

"Is she special?" I questioned suspiciously.

"Isn't every woman special?" Sirkana replied, her eyes sparkling. "Don't use up all the fragrances," she instructed as she strolled away, her tall shadow disappearing down the hallway.

There was always more.

***

"Speak to me, fair maid! Speak, and do not go!"

Water splashed everywhere with my gallant hand gestures. Thankfully, the bathhouses were empty save for me… possibly because of me.

What can I say? At least I had a reputation.

"What sorrows have your eyes inlaid with such black woe?"

I paused my dramatic recital. Sniffing, I plucked a random perfume from the rack. Lavender. Women liked lavender, right? So what if the perfume was designed for women? The women got a whiff of them either way, and one way clearly worked more in my favor. Except that one time that scarf selling guy thought I was flirting with him…

Humming softly, I drenched myself in the perfume, plucking a few others out as well. "Vanilla… strawberry, love strawberry!… Mint? Well, okay… BUBBLES!"

Yep, I had a reputation, all right.

"_While I was dancing in the square, I saw a maiden ever fair…_"

"Dharin! Is that you?"

"No!"

"Well, hurry up!"

"I told you, it's not me, it's… it's… someone who's not me but who would be me in the circumstance that-"

"Nice try, Dharin."

***

Ten minutes and several fragrances later, I was finally satisfied. In the end, I went for the good old fashioned scent- soap. After all, who didn't like soap?

_What if she's allergic to soap? Or maybe she's been on the road so long that she's stained in an impenetrable layer of dirt and will be insulted by your cleanliness, thinking it's a slight on her. Maybe you should have bathed in dirt! Maybe…you're just being an idiot. Yeah, love that theory, since it's the one that works the most in your favor. Backhandedly._

My hair flopped over my eyes as I shook the water out of it- with any luck, it'd be dry by suppertime. In the circumstance that it wasn't, I could always go for the rugged handsome look- with the slightly over-grown hair and wild bangs– and maybe even a fake whiplash scar by my eyebrow…

I exited rather pleased by the effect I had created using some curlers for a few minutes that a nameless female had left behind. With my prepared speech, I was sure to woo any girl- no matter how special.

"Excuse me?" came a soft sweet voice, so perfect that it must have been my imagination. I ignored it- until a matching hand tapped on my shoulder. "Excuse me?"

I whirled around to find myself facing a maiden so fair, she must be Ardina herself. No, even more so! She surpassed my imagination, a feat unprecedented. Raven curls flowed down, over her shoulders, over her… other parts, other alluring parts. She was no doll-like figure, though- her biceps were well-formed for a girl of her slim build.

Her eyes topped everything. Blue and deep- like the oceans I'd read about. Mysterious, like you never knew what was coming, and yet welcoming at the same time.

"Could you direct me to the restrooms?" her lips speak somewhere beyond the fuzzy part in my vision.

Sirkana was right; she was special.

"Mister?"

"Uh…"

Tales of my retreating footsteps will be told for generations to come.

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Did I mention he has a thing with talking to girls? Anyway, I don't know about this one… it's going to alternate every other chapter from past to present. So… tell me what you think, please. ;D


	4. Too Brilliant

**Disclaimer: **I know it's been six months, but if Allison Croggon had transferred ownership of the Pellinor series, I think we'd have heard about it.

**Notes: **Well… I did warn that updates were going to be erratic. With so many other stories, this one's probably going to be VERY erratic. The long periods of nothingness have nothing to do with reviews; they're all wonderful. This is Dharin in the present again (AKA dead Dharin- or is he dead?) It's yet again a short installment, but the next present installment should be longer and full of explanation.

It's still white out here. Very astute observation for someone who's supposed to be brilliant. But someone who's brilliant wouldn't be here at all. Someone brilliant wouldn't have taken a trip they knew they'd die on. They wouldn't have fallen in love with a hero; they wouldn't have fallen in love with their cousin. And they wouldn't have died.

But I did. And I'm brilliant. So I guess it can happen.

"_I'm Mara," the goddess-like girl told me._

"…_And you're Mara," I stammered. "That is-of course, you're Mara, you just… brilliant, Dharin. Yeah, that's it. I'm brilliant." I extended my hand. "Pleased to meet you."_

_She smiled. She was brilliant too._

Yeah, I'm brilliant. At all the wrong things. Color coordination wasn't generally one of them, though.

They say that the heaven beyond the Gates is white too. They must be wrong, like always, because this is hell.

_What did I do to deserve this? _On second thought, _what didn't I do?_

Don't be afraid, I told her. _Because I am._

It's silly. What's there to be afraid of if you can't die? Well, there's that, I guess. _Brilliant…_

Sirkana's going to kill me for not making it past the Gates. Heck, she'll kill me for dying. Or worse, she'll kiss me and say,_ I told you so._

Granted, she did. I was just too stupid to listen. Too brilliant.

It's not like I can die again, I suppose, I might as well be reckless. I survey my surroundings; like before, they're just… white. Even most of my blood's gone, washed away in the snow. That's the problem with white: it doesn't last. Not before it's stained. Like laundry- I hated laundry. My aunt did it for me, usually. It was like magic, watching the stains disappear. It probably was.

But that's the problem with laundry: the stains are still there.

Maerad's nowhere. So I guess she's not dead. And I guess that's good. How it's good, I'll think of later. Tomorrow, maybe. "Tomorrow" in some cultures means "sometime in the future." And I have no future. So I'm good. Just, not literally.

I try to take a step. Something crunches through my foot.

Through my foot. It's my murderer. Well, one of them. The bolt that killed me. I scream, but not from pain. Not physical pain, at least. From another, deeper kind of pain, the pain I wish I could feel. Instead, there's nothing. Just… nothing.

Except horror when I realize it's the tail end of the bolt. The part that didn't kill me. It can kill me now.

I'd been looking forward to attending my own burial, so I could laugh. Tell them all how much better it is here, chide them for their stupid humanity. But I've missed it, like I missed everything else. The snow's already been my coffin; now, I'm dead to the world.

Dead. I should be dead.

I suppose I can't die again.

_But there's no harm in trying._

I can't bear to look at myself, not as a corpse; but, since I'm not sure what I am, I afford myself a look at my chest.

There's a gaping hole by my heart, but I'd already known that. It's filled by the bolt right now; but, Maerad can't be the bolt, Maerad's not here.

So I rip it out. What a weapon it is, to hurt without pain. Dying hurt, but this… this hurts more. I'm dying again.

And I have to close my eyes. Because I'm still afraid. I'm afraid of myself; and Sirkana always told me to kill my fears…

I finger the sharp edge of the arrow.

I'm certain she wasn't promoting suicide. But I'm already dead. I should be. What I'm killing isn't myself, it's a ghost, a spectre. Ghosts are meant to be vanquished, ripped from the world…

Decisively, I slit the arrow across my wrist. And then the other. And then there are none; but there's still me.

_Who is me?_

"Dharin à Lobvar…" a mystical voice whispers. "You are too brilliant to die."

I'd forgotten. Ghosts can't die. They'll always haunt you.

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Poor Dharin. :( He's so neglected, this is the only fic featuring him that I know of. Reviews would make him feel better, though. Speaking of Dharin, how is he? I'm inadvertently making his personality a mix of Moritz Stiefel (very evident in this chapter) and my own character (who Dharin actually was the basis of, strangely).**


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